The Railway Station Man by Jennifer Johnston

totally forgotten shiver happened in her stomach as she put her hand in his. Fright and then relief that you weren’t going to be left alone smiling into space while the whole world danced around you. Foolish Helen –
    Dinner in the diner –
    He let go of her fingers and put his hand firmly on the small of her back.
    Nothing could be finer –
    Tentatively she took hold of both of his shoulders. Was that the right thing to do?
    Than to have your ham and eggs in Carolina .
    â€˜Ca-ha-rol-ina.’ He tilted his head away from her and sang.
    Woohoo .
    Everyone was watching.
    He twirled her into the middle of the floor. It was sticky, she thought, her feet wouldn’t slide, damp patches on the floor and Coke bottle tops, crisp packets. Not quite the Metropole ballroom or the Gresham Hotel. ‘Whirl,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Let’s whirl. Let’s show them something.’ They whirled in spite of the sticky floor. It was fun, she thought. Such long-ago fun. It’s amazing he dances so well with his … disabilities. Rhythm. That was always the important thing. Rhythm. He must have been good when he was … when he was … I suppose at some time he was whole. People’s pink faces smiled.
    Won’t you choochoo me home .
    â€˜Thank you,’ he said and bowed quite formally.
    Several people clapped.
    â€˜Avanti, avanti,’ shouted Mary from beside the gramophone. She put another record on the turntable and gently lowered the needle.
    Plinky plonky plinky plonky –
    â€˜Mmmm,’ said the man, taking hold of her back again. His eye smiled at her.
    Why do you whisper green grass?
    â€˜Why indeed,’ he said.
    Why tell the trees what ain’t so? Some of the children began to dance as well, swaying slowly on their own.
    Whispering grass –
    â€˜I know this one,’ shouted Mrs Walsh, sweeping the floor by Home Produce. ‘This brings me back. The trees don’t need to know,’ she shouted.
    Oh no .
    â€˜Remember the Ink Spots.’
    â€˜Mr Hawthorne …’
    â€˜Why tell them all your secrets? Call me Roger.’
    â€˜I haven’t got any secrets.’
    He smiled. ‘I don’t believe that. You have the most secretive face I have ever seen. Cool, private. Hiding things.’
    â€˜You dance well.’
    Then she blushed. What a cow-like thing to say. His hand pressed her back for a moment.
    â€˜I used to dance a lot.’
    Don’t tell it to the trees or they will tell the birds and bees and everyone will know because you told the babbling –
    â€˜1944.’
    He laughed.
    Tree … ee … eeoooeeooee – slower – and oooeeooee –
    â€˜Oooeeoooeee,’ crooned one of the children and the record stopped turning.
    He let go of Helen and turned away. He walked quickly to the white elephant stall, just leaving her there standing in the middle of the hall.
    â€˜I’ll have it,’ he said to Mary. He pulled a wallet out of his pocket and produced two five-pound notes. He handed her the money.
    â€˜Here. That’s what I’ll give you.’
    â€˜Too much,’ she said surprisingly. ‘Give me seven.’
    â€˜Take it.’ He pushed the money into her hand. ‘I’ll go and get my car. It’s down by the hotel. If someone could …’
    â€˜That’s all right. One of the boys will carry it out for you. Wait a while though till the rain eases off. You’ll drown in that.’
    He shook his head and walked away towards the door.
    â€˜Fifty-seven pounds twenty-six pence.’
    She put the money into the cash box.
    She repeated the figure to Helen as she arrived beside her.
    â€˜Great.’
    â€˜It must be a record. It just shows the quality of our white elephants.’
    â€˜Or perhaps that our customers have more money than sense.’
    Mary laughed.
    â€˜Vodka all gone. Let’s clear up as quickly as we can and get home.